


masochists, this way

by menma



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU, Angst, Death, F/M, Gen, M/M, Modern Royalty, Oscar Fucking Wilde, Parallel Universes, Psychic AU, Romance, Tohoku 2011 Earthquake, Your Mom, am i talking to me, existential people mysteries, jut shit, tbh don't it makes two sense, we’re all M(s), what do you mean no, wrecking selves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menma/pseuds/menma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't want you." Tsukishima hisses, his face wet and eyes puffed. He silently excuses himself, darted for the door, every step heavy and dizzying, not sparing a look at Kuroo's pained eyes. </p><p>When suddenly, he feels something pasts him, maybe his life - flashing before his eyes, "Please-", Kuroo clenches, expression in a daze, and Tsukishima feels very hopeless all of the sudden. Because he knows that look, from the very beginning, it haunted him like a mother, because it means- </p><p> </p><p>or</p><p>A tale of a dysfunctional Japanese citizen, Kei, who was thrown into the arms of the number one person who denies his very right of living, Tetsurou, Crown Prince of Japan, during the year of 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	masochists, this way

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: work is mildly inspired by Zankyou no Terror ost, von. maybe hearing it out while reading might prove to be a feat, here have some link. however i have to warn you, the score is a breathtakingly, haunting tranquility. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZxnqSTzq6-w

 

 

 

_“There will be no lasting peace either in the heart of individualists_

_or in the social customs until death is outlawed."_  
**Albert Camus**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

French astronomer and spiritualist Camille Flammarion is credited as having first used the word psychic, and writing in his personal journal the life of a psychic man with a beautiful future.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tsukishima Kei was 10 when Spaghetti Bolognese was served as his dinner, as it becomes vomit an hour after. He blinks, and tries to think. Or not, before his eyes widen to confirm red.

 

Dinner had been delicious, especially during winter. It is Mom’s specialty, Italian cuisine. He’s always been a fan of Mom’s food and snow, so he smiled brightly upon the dining room. Dad was pleased, he thought that night was a lovely evening.

 

“Kei, clean yourself and go to bed, you have school tomorrow.” They made sure the table was taken care of, with Kei wiping and Akiteru hauling plates for Mom.

 

“Okay Mom.” Kei was still happy as he walked upstairs, to his room, to his bathroom. Another happy moment for him in his warm dip, which had snow white tiles. He thinks about tomorrow, the placid face still intact, ridiculously hiding his eagerness for first World History class.

 

His towel was soft and had a lavender fragrance, which he found rather amusing, because he likes nor dislikes it. His night wear consists of a favourite crew neck sweater and black shorts getup, further enhancing his nonchalance. Until it was time for bed, he felt calm and pleased. Tonight was another normal day. So a carefree thought, _I wanna see Dad and Mom before bed_.

 

Dad and Mom’s room was right after their Traditional/Modern Japanese House Stairs, which had nice growing twin ferns that levelly compliments their home’s white hue. Kei walked out his room, taking a left, with eyes brimming of all good things, or unconscious denial as I like to call it. Because his parents’ room had a Samsung Smart TV which directly faces the door, a little bit to the right, after a smooth red Intermission couch and a simple white bed. He liked it.

 

But that night was new; different.

 

He averted his gaze, leaving a trail of shock, confusion, and nausea.

 

“Dear, Kei is here!” Mom’s tone had some urgency in it, with eyes hard alerting her husband. So in an instant, the lights were on, the TV off. Kei feels funny, it was dread gently nibbling his stomach away.

 

The wooden floor seemed far when a big hand caressed his head, “I’m so sorry honey.” That was Dad’s voice.

 

But his stomach was retching, and instinct brought his hands to cover his mouth. He heard oh no and give me a bucket and inhaled a sharp tangy smell that was very disgusting. Oddly for him but actually normal, not to his nose.

 

A couple of minutes later he was calmer with a glass of warm water, Akiteru across him with a bewildered color.

 

“Err, was it that bad?” Kei was confused too.

 

“Akiteru.” Mom told his brother not to ask.

 

He heard a sigh, probably his brother, and Kei felt pathetic.

 

“Come Kei, I’ll take you to bed.” He didn’t move.

 

Dad apologized again, while Mom took Kei by the hand and they venture up into his room.

 

A sigh, once they were out of view, “I am locking my door each time I watch another samurai documentation.”

 

Akiteru finally understood the situation.

 

 

* * *

 

 

From a distance, Tsukishima Kei’s eyes looked disinterested, from a distance.

 

He’s heard people talking about it, of course. His friends, his teachers, his parents, even random conversations he unintentionally dropped in on the way to and fro school.

 

“Death?” A 6 year old him had inquired, so curious.

 

He recalls Dad talking over the phone, about attending a funeral. “Dad’s friend had gone to sleep, dear.”  
Kei wondered, and was confused. So confused that sleep that night was impossible.

 

 _What if I don’t wake up?_ It was unsettling.

 

He sees the gym from a distance, through the windows of the first floor. But his steps felt heavy, in memoir of bad memories. Of not finding sleep, of finding sleep.

 

The vague answer his Dad had given terrified him. He learned 4 years later that those kinds of answers would expectedly scare kids questioning death. Kei’s Dad noticed his mistake 2 weeks later, discovering Kei’s tired eyes, from the dining table.

 

“We are humans, living creatures, and all living things comes to an end. That happens when their body starts to cease functioning properly, which will eventually lead to it stopping functioning altogether, which means death.” Dad gave a gentle slap to his back, chuckling heartily. 

 

Kei had asked, wonder, and asked. What was death? He’s only heard murmurs of it, so he couldn’t make sense out of it, as early as his Dad’s friend. His friends were equally terrified and cried, “It’s a bone ghost!” which is downright stupid. But kids are afraid of stupid things. So Tsukishima Kei had knelt down in his bedside and asked himself, _what makes you think you’ll wake up_?

 

He saw sincerity in Dad’s eye, as he found those yellow orbs to be the comfort of home. It could’ve been his imagination, but he felt his bone relax, as if it’s been rigid for far too long an interval. Kei liked that color.

 

But he couldn’t forget, the horror of death, for a few more weeks.

 

Volleyball Gym it says on the door. It has been 6 years since his first explanation of the 5 letter word, and 1 day after walking in on a gore scene. He remembers, and begins to wonder, why death was still an enigma to him. A groundbreaking terror, which he deliberately forget in that moment. They’ve got a practice match to face.

 

Because he felt so confused.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s a feint!” Their libero saved it, nontheless.

 

“Sorry! Please cover!” The ball went up to Yamaguchi.

 

“Tsukishima, save!” It was the second time already. Amameru Middle School was not too fun, but volleyball was still there.

 

In that sweaty hall, their score was 25-22, in favour of Amameru.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Good job Tsukishima!” It was one of those comical grins of Satoru, their libero, that Kei wouldn't ever like to forget, inviting him into a high five.

 

It resulted in a clap as Yamaguchi comes into view, meat buns in hand, evidently rejoicing.

 

“To Umemaru!” In their quiet neighbourhood, shouting as a team definitely seem very out of place. Which Tsukishima didn’t mind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The idea of death still seemed foreign but familiarly frightening to him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

School was always a 3 bus stop away from home. It was frankly near, and frankly weird to see police barriers in his usual way. He’s still got about 40 minutes before school starts, so a detour wouldn’t earn him a late card. _But he sees red_ , and

 

“Little boy? What are you doing here? Hurry up and go to your school!” It was the florist lady he sees everyday, but Tsukishima understood that he didn’t have a reason to listen to her. Even with that face.

 

“Why?” He sees her blink twice and frowns.

 

“Aren’t you going to be late?” She made a point to cross her hands.

 

A tiny but powerful scowl curled into his face.  _No_ , Tsukishima wanted to tell her, but he didn’t have to be rude, for his Mom’s sake. So he carried on.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Class, Satoru has passed on,” and he witnessed the lips of a teacher move, fabricating a horrid illusion- no, **reality**.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was like a jumpscare.

 

They weren’t close friends or anything. But he’s seen that body move, seen it play volleyball, seen it high five him. He didn’t feel too sad. Nobody should judge too, they barely knew each other. Satoru’s profile in Tsukishima’s world was that of their school's libero. Definitely, sympathy was present, the tears of a parent have always been precious. Nothing more, nothing less, which made sense.

 

But he has seen Satoru live.

 

Satoru is dead.

 

_How much pain are his parents in?_

 

_What is Satoru now?_

 

The idea of Satoru’s death still seemed foreign but familiarly frightening to him.

 

Tsukishima finds himself looking at Yamaguchi’s scared face, and decides to ask his own trembling hands, _what is death_? And to his mind, _does death make sense_?

 

He was dumbstruck, in the midst of a white gathering.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The image of Satoru’s lifeless body stuck in his  
head, for another week, and another, and another.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _“The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple.”_  
**Oscar Wilde**

 

 

* * *

 

 

He watched the steam rise and evaporate out of the food, for 2 whole minutes. There were Bruschetta and Caprese Salad with Pesto Salad as starters, Margherita Pizza and Pasta Carbonara as main dishes, and his favourite, Strawberry Shortcake as desert. It was grand. His family went all out to celebrate, either with the food, or the decorations. Kei assured his family and Yamaguchi that he’s fine.

 

“But…” Yamaguchi was biting at his lower lip.

 

“I’m fine."

 

Disturbance was his gift.

 

 _Happy birthday to you,_  
_Happy birthday to you,_  
_Happy birthday, dear Kei,_  
_Happy birthday to you!_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tsukishima Kei was a default Shinto believer, so, he was taught that there is an afterlife, and that life is no different than now - still a journey. But he’s known Buddhism too, that people get judged on their karma, Islam too. Then there’s Christianity, with it’s concept of heaven and hell.

 

There are roughly 4.200 religions in the world, and he’s known by research that each religion differs by means of geographical and social factors. He stared at his computer, hard. He was trying his best to ask for answers of the internet.

 

He’s eventually come to terms with the reality of eventual death in this world. But he couldn’t shake off a feeling of paralytic fear each and every time the matter was brought to eye. He wanted the truth.

 

 _But how?_ A voice he trusted sounded tired.

 

Tsukishima studied and found no way to quench his worry for certainty. Everything was filled with holes, and these holes are bridged by faith. Faith, the word believers used, it tasted infuriating on his simple platter. He’s read a couple of books on religions, but, this is ridiculous, he concluded. He didn’t have this faith.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _“I believe in order to understand.”_  
**Agustinus**

 

 

* * *

 

 

His parents believe Shinto as the one true religion, but what’s the proof? If the answer is faith, Tsukishima’s calling bullshit. How can they be so sure, when another also is? So many religion, so many believers claiming theirs as the Truth. The world is a paradox, but he refused to accept that there is several truths.

 

At least, he understands for a fact, that there can only be one true side to the truth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Kei, you look terribly troubled.”

 

“I think I would know that better than you.”

 

A silence, and a sigh. The air didn’t feel pleasant since morning, which made the flowers look bleak. Dad inhaled the crisp air, a little bit too slow. Eventually he neared Kei and sat, facing the irises.

 

“You know what,” Kei decided he would listen, “people’ve been saying that you always have this face,” there was no reason not to, “that you’re about to cry.”

 

If you aren’t sure you know them, you should never judge them. But it is common for everyone to ignore and forget their common sense in everyday lives. An excited chuckle was returned by Dad in response to Kei’s disgruntled mouth.

 

“I know you’re not sad.”

 

“You’re just too full of questions.” Silence.

 

“That’s not wrong.” Kei finally found his voice.

 

“No, surely not.” His tone didn’t falter.

 

“But Anthony Hopkins made a point when he said that people are dying from overthinking, that we can never trust our mind anyway, so overthinking is a death trap.” Dad delivered his point to the guy in jutting mouths.

 

Something’s been lifted off his chest. He feels as though there was some weigh taken off of him. But he’s not sure. Suddenly lighter, he found himself enjoying the blow. Until the whole sentence registered his mind.

 

_Death..._

 

The light in Kei’s eyes strained the old man, “Dad, what is death?”

 

This matter was an important turning point for his son, and his heart tells him to do something, to help, if anything could.

 

“Death is what happens to us when our body stops functioning. After that, our souls become spirits, with a new duty of protecting the family.” It was so much more a stern answer than 7 years ago. But questions give rise to answers, which in turn gives rise to more questions.

 

“How can you be so sure?”

 

 **“Faith.”**  If Kei could have it, perhaps,  _he would’ve wanted it._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _Why is faith an answer?_  He would want to know.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Tsukki, let’s go to the beach!” That was when they were 14.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was another normal day at Umemaru Middle School, Japanese Literature period.

 

1914, Natsume Soseki. It said on the board.

 

“Kokoro is a post-war novel, which deals with the transition from a Meiji Japanese man into a Modern Japanese man, by exploring the friendship between a young man and an older man called Sensei.” Yamaguchi was told by the teach to read out her print outs, when Tsukishima remembers the book on top of a wooden shelf back home.

 

His Dad was a literature freak. He’s collected several notable literature works from around the world, and there were also Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov and Crime and Punishment. Tsukishima concluded that those are his favourites, since he mostly sees his Dad re-reading those particular books.

 

He’s glad though, because the stories never end. Tsukishima enjoys his life talks with his Dad, almost too much. Maybe it’s because of how Dad reads a lot. Their times together were like an adventure. One that ends in multiple possibilities, continued with a resonance of excitement.

 

Then, the name  _Tsukishima_  was called.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey Tadashi, let’s eat over there!” Their bentos were very interesting.

 

Yamaguchi’s steps were slower than usual, and when he arrived at their table, he sighed. But nobody could heard it over the clatters and chatters of school lunchtime.

 

In his eyes, Tsukishima went home as rigid as never.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _“We are dying from overthinking. We are slowly killing ourselves by thinking about everything. Think. Think. Think. You can never trust the human mind anyway. ~~It’s a death trap~~.”_  
**Anthony Hopkins**

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Izanami, why?” Unsure of who to ask, he expected no replies from each.

 

Everyone else drowned in their own thoughts, with unreadable colors. Or it was just him.

 

“Jesus, why?” Everyone else was holding their breaths and tears, trying their best to be considerate, he reasons. Considerate towards the poor unfortunate should of the Tsukishimas, upon lost of a dear father. It was an accident. Then Tsukishima realises that he was actually demanding an answer.

 

Tsukishima whispers his tears, inaudible to the others who are also lamenting. “I demand..an answer…” He manages to wheeze out.

 

“Hades,” He’ll go into greek mythology if he has to, even if he couldn’t believe himself. The wooden coffin is gently let down the deep cemetery hole, and Tsukishima feels angry and hurt, and hurt, and hurt. Dad was fine this morning, laughing with Akiteru over volleyball fun. He felt anaemic, he totally should be anaemic.

 

“Why does...” He breathes in, briefly catching his brother's crumbling form. _Why does he have to go_.

 

From when he first heard, and asked around about, death, he gets that from that point on, **he was a goner**. The idea of death haunted him like a mother, and today his father was captured by the very idea who denies Tsukishima Kei of life. His father. is. dead. And he doesn't, never did, never would,-

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Dad, what is death?”

 

“Death is what happens to us when our body stops functioning. After that, our souls become spirits, with a new duty of protecting the family.”  
  
"Death marks the end of our time on earth, then, we are all judged to have our final destination decided by God."  
  
"Death is the end. There is no afterlife."  
  
"Death is a transitioning moment in your life where you prepare for an even better world."  
  
"Death pertains to the part of life when your karma decides your following life form."  
  
  
**The question that** **launched a thousand answers.**

 

 

* * *

 

 

-never would understand, why _they_ have to go away, in the midst of a black gathering.

 

 

* * *

 

 

And from that moment, reality began to hurt so much as fantasies, as he has never considered. Never think fantasies are simply exciting adventures, it toys you into depression and derision, as mind games would for people without the capacity to think.

 

Don’t feel bad, Tsukishima Kei was born the star-crossed psychic amongst realists,  _with a bitterly beautiful future_.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: French astronomer and spiritualist Camille Flammarion, along with every actual person used as refference are not held accountable through this article. I do not know any of them on a personal basis, nor have I read enough of them to say anything about their profiles. No disrespect is meant through the uses of their compelling aphorisms. 
> 
>  
> 
> ありがとう for reading ʅ（´-౪-）ʃ


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